


Paper Planes

by Smoakin_dontburnyourself



Category: Velvet (TV)
Genre: F/M, Galerias Velvet - Freeform, one shots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:54:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7732975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Smoakin_dontburnyourself/pseuds/Smoakin_dontburnyourself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ana/Alberto one shots </p>
<p>Ch 1: two times Ana and Alberto coped with not being together and one time they didn't have to</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Planes

**Two times Ana and Alberto coped with not being together and one time they didn't have to  
**

_"I dropped a tear in the ocean. The day you find it is the day I will stop missing you."_

 

I.

The first time Ana had alcohol was with Alberto, they were seventeen and curious, and in love. They laughed imagining how Don Emilio would react if he saw them now, eyes sagging and their giggles a little too loud. They kissed and Alberto burped, sending them into another fit of laughter.

 

They had finished the entire bottle but not before promising each other a million things  

 

This bottle was different and Ana had nearly forgotten what his drunken laughter sounded like. 

 

The liquid burned a path down her throat, Rita had given up on pouring and instead took a swing directly from a bottle that she’d swiped from some event that was going on above their heads on the main floor of the Galerias. They laid sprawled across Ana’s bed, their feet dangling off the side, the champaign swishing over the curves of the bottle at each slight movement of the groggy mattress. 

 

Their old radio sang on about a love story that would never take place. 

 

“He said he would write to me” Ana sighed, shifting so she could look at her friend 

 

“It's been a year, Rita, and he didn't even write to tell me if his plane landed, or what his new room looks like, or if he likes the food that he always said was too bland” she’d promised herself not to be miserable but the sadness she felt seemed to seep out of her pores 

 

Rita sat up, her hair out of tame from where they’d been dancing around their tiny room just hours before to songs that laughed in the face of love, alcohol wetting their lips and laughter lining their mouths. She thought that, even if it had only been for a short couple of hours that she’d gotten Ana to forget that Alberto was oceans away, it in itself had been a victory. 

 

The alcohol settled into the pit of their stomachs, it made them reminiscent and the giggles it had induced before turned into echoes that mirrored the ‘ _ woah,woah _ ’ of the song that played in the background. 

 

“Maybe they got lost, Ana, or maybe they won't let him write, you know how strict those boarding schools can be..”

 

The truth was that they  _ didn't _ know, probably couldn't even imagine, that Alberto hated London, that it was always raining but that the dreariness of the city suited him. That he’d only made one friend that laughed too much but every once in awhile was a little too sad.  Ana’s lips tasted of stolen champaign and her tongue darted out to comfort them, their murmurings stroking the memories she had of Alberto, one where he told her something he’d never said out loud. 

 

His distant voice soothed her ear, saying and promising things that she could only fantasize about coming true.

 

With the last couple of drops trickling from the bottle and the sound of Rita’s steady breathing, Ana allowed sleep to consume her, dreaming about the fish on chips that Alberto had once told her he despised  


II. 

 

On the other side of an ocean, Alberto’s back was soaked with rain that took him by surprise on the busy streets of London. His umbrella, broken in half after a fistfight with the boyfriend of one of Mateo’s conquests, had yet to be replaced and was missed in a sea of open fabric that protected unobtrusive people from the elements.   

 

His button down shirt stuck to him like a second layer of skin

 

Droplets of the London rain dripped off his nose, past the side of his lip and down the path of his chin. He looked up at the sky that was crying precipitation, the rain fell steady onto his eyelids as his eyes closed in anticipation of the water hitting his unprotected face. It hugged his cheeks and whispered things that he’d only dared to think about on the nights when he couldn't sleep and Mateo was too hungover to go out. 

 

They reminded him of a time when it was Ana’s skirts that were soaked with rain, and her face that was plastered with strands of her wet hair.

 

She talked about the beauty of the rain that day but all he could remember was how beautiful he thought she was in that moment, soaked to the bone with the warm precipitation of Madrid and all the while lifting her face in search for more, allowing the water to run along the curves of her features.      

 

Sometimes he convinced himself that he’d never see her again

 

On bad days he imagines the letters he writes her almost everyday arriving where he sent them, people asking around for an Ana Ribera and concluding that no one by that name resided there.

 

He imagined her suitcase packed and missing him, a new town, a new job, a new life

 

One without even a breath of what they used to sound like together.

 

Maybe they gave her room to another girl, one without the same convicted brown eyes or the love for life that he imagines Ana still lives with. 

 

Other times he imagines that she's still there, her laughter lost among the hum of work, her life built in the same tiny shared room, her dreams squeezed into four walls that are painted with memories of what can never be. 

 

Most days he can't decide which one is worse

 

For him, for Ana, he's never sure. 

 

He works a lot, just enough to blur his dreams into a nothingness of exhausted sleep. He learns a lot too, and in Mateo he finds the same love for life that he can't help but admire. 

 

The rain nudges at his heart and behind his eyes he sees Ana, her laughter playing like a movie 

 

He smiles, completely and without any pretenses, looking up into the sky he hopes she's smiling too. 

 

III. 

Alberto moans a little when he eats, she noticed it once when they were kids and now as a thirtysomething-year-old it sends her into a fit of laughter

 

in a hotel, in Paris, the afterglow of a night together shines through the laugh lines on her face and the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes.

 

She wears his dress shirt and like an emblem for their love it hugs her. They eat, food that she orders because Alberto can never get the grammar of a french sentence without someone laughing at him. She kisses him as he tries to chew and a piece of egg falls out onto her chin

 

They laugh because it's mundane and they laugh because Ana’s face wrinkles up in surprise

 

The streets of Paris hear Alberto scream out that he loves her 

 

_ Je l’aime _

 

And they watch as, hand in hand, the two love each other despite time or differences. 

  
The bricks that make up the city of love smile up and marvel at the very embodiment of true love.  


End file.
